


Tarnished

by Athena2693



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Cutting, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-08
Updated: 2005-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athena2693/pseuds/Athena2693
Summary: Ed and Al were separated after their mother's dead.  Al went onto be a State Alchemist.  Ed wasn't quite so lucky. Oldfic moved over from ff.net.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric/Edward Elric
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Tarnished

_Title:_ Tarnished

 _Author:_ Athena2693

 _Rating:_ Oh, probably an R. Hard R, if you're particularly prudish.

 _Spoilers:_ Haha, none! I changed the freaking plot so much!

 _Warnings:_ Non-con, mentions of Ped, Incest (obviously!), AU (basically, everything after their mother died is now void, they never go with Izumi, lose their bodies, etc.)

 _Pairing:_ Elricest

 _A/N:_ This was written for the Elricest Fluff vs. Angst contesnt. I was on team Angst, my theme was One Hundred Kisses.

The name comes from the frequent use of metals as descriptions, specifically gold, as well as something else, which you'll pick up on.

_Tarnished_

For a few moments, Edward Elric could make believe he was still a child; the weight thrown over him was just the puppy-like cuddling of his younger brother; the silent room was the one he shared with the young boy; the dim white light flooding the cracked window was from the full moon outside. With his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even, it was almost possible to forget.

The nagging in his head told him to open his eyes though, pull on his clothes, and get going. It was persistent, always there, nagging, always drawing him back to his reality.

It wasn't Al behind him; it was a middle-aged man with prematurely graying hair and the beginning of a gut. This wasn't his bedroom, it was a moderately priced motel room with cum-splattered sheets, and tiny, repeatedly used soaps with past customer's pubic hair still clinging to them. And that dim white light wasn't the moon or even the stars because you couldn't see them in the city. Ed hadn't seen the stars since he came to Noiria eight years ago. That glow was from the non-blown streetlights outside the motel.

He was careful to wiggle out from the man's hold. It wasn't strong; only a flabby arm thrown over his hips, and Ed was capable of sliding out of bed without waking him. He wasn't being considerate of the man's rest. The man still had him for fifteen minutes, technically, and if he woke up, chances are he would try to fit another round in before letting the blond go for the night. With his quota filled for the night, the boy was ready to just head back to his room for the night and get some sleep.

The motel room was dark, unsurprisingly. His clientele were not known for being exhibitionist. Overwhelmingly, he seemed to draw usually respectable businessmen secretly looking for boy flesh; this type didn't go for men. They wanted Ed because, even at twenty years of age, he was almost as small as a child, and he was pretty. Less frequently, he was paid for by young men in denial, reasoning that since he was so pretty, that it was like being with a woman. He never brought up the fact that ninety percent of Noiria's permanent residents were female.

Even as late in the night as it was, he could hear voices in the hallway. It was probably about two or so. He was one of the early streetwalkers, heading out as soon as the sun set. The voices suddenly exploded into what he guessed was a heated argument, probably over money. The muffled thump of a boy's body hit the cracked walls resounded, followed by the sharp echo of a slap. The blond ignored the squabble outside his room, and bent over to look through the pile of clothes near the door, trying to find his own fishnet shirt and leather pants. He felt something moving along his thigh, but ignored it. After walking the streets for eight years, the slightly skin-crawling sensation of cold cum oozing from your various openings was as familiar as your hair brushing your cheeks.

His cheap, black, knee-high boots creaked uncomfortably in the stillness of the room, but when Ed looked over towards his client, the man was still fast asleep, snoring abundantly and obnoxiously. He finished lacing the shiny material and stuffed the scratchy bills into his left boot; the only available crevice among his skimpy clothing. Whore's clothes usually didn't come wallet-ready, and Ed knew better than to walk out on these streets with money in his hands, no matter how tightly it was clamped in a resistant fist. There were more things to worry about than pickpockets and abusive clients on the gray Noiria streets.

"Hey, Glimmer, you getting off for the night?" Ed was greeted the moment he walked out the splintered motel doorway. With a heavy sigh he turned to speak to his intruder. A wholly uninteresting individual he knew simply as Luster. Quite plain looking for this part of town and with a name unoriginal enough to boot. A hooker with the actual word Lust in his name? Anybody who would refer to Ed by his street name didn't usually deserve his attention since his housemates referred to him by his given name, and usually Luster wasn't an exception. But in the past, he had scored some good stuff from the unattractive boy, and tonight was one of those nights he really needed something to help him sleep. His backside ached from a hearty spanking one of his earlier clients had graced him with, and he had the feeling he'd still be hearing the gruff voice demanding him to call him Daddy in his dreams. Fucking pedophiles.

"Yeah, just got off. Well, duty anyway." Ed wrinkled his nose at the implication of the sentence he had spoken. Sex was so gross. Maybe it was because he had been sold to the brothels weeks before he turned thirteen, but he really believed that sex was one of the most disgusting things in the world. But equivalent exchange; if he wanted money, they got use of his ass, or mouth, or whatever their fancy as.

"Got any Mercury on you?" Mercury was a relatively cheap drug you could find quite easily around the Backside District, silvery and liquid, like fluid metal. It looked quite a bit like the element after which is was named. It was injected directly into the vein, and though you wouldn't take it looking for a good time, it was usually good for making a body forget about life long enough to help them get some sleep.

"You know I never do any of that stuff." Actually, he didn't know that. He didn't care enough about the whore to care. "I have some Shackle though. I'm heading over to Comet's right now, if you want to come."

Shackle was a party drug. Small, pinkish purple pills that dissolved on your tongue before you even swallowed it and tasted like cat piss. Like the name suggested, once you took it you were trapped, trapped in a world of color and taste, and usually sex. It was a party drug, and Ed never took it. He didn't like the feeling of being out of control. and it never made him feel horny, just hot and sticky.

He just shook his head and parted ways. Luster was just a pretty airhead trying to find a good time, minus the actual prettiness.

The walk home was pretty quick, but dangerous. Winter was setting in, and even though they were relatively close to the deserts, they were just as close to the seas and were starting to get flurries of snow. They weren't bad enough yet to deter the walkers from their rounds, or even to get them to put on long-sleeved shirts, but in a month or so they'd be trapped in the brothels for the winter. An unappealing prospective, since the pimps usually took a house charge from the whores. Ed never got much money from his services by the time he was done paying off Clark, his owner, anyway, but during the winter he was lucky to get a third of his fees.

At least in the winter though, Clark was there to take care of the trouble. He had a strict no-interference rule with dealing with the outside, but if it took place at the brothel, he would kill for his boys. Here, in the center of the Backside District, it was safe enough. But Ed lived in Pedestal Manor, a whorehouse near the back alleys, which was great if you wanted easy access to a large assortment of playthings for the brain, but a bitch when you just wanted to head home and get some sleep.

Eight years of walking through the dark alleys to the same house, and Ed was still nervous to enter the black walkways. He hesitated near the opening between the two houses that led directly to the back alleys without the ten-minute walk around the block. It was slightly warmer tonight, but the icy wind was whipping from the space between the two buildings, washing over his exposed flesh. He stopped to look down the street at all the other young boys, though none of them were actually boys. The actual prepubescents were cleaned out a few years ago after a handful of murders took place in the Archaic District. The law didn't care how many streetwalkers were done away with, but when you touch a hooker, excuse me, escort, from the Archaic District, you were in trouble. The police tended to stay centered in the AD though, and as long as you behaved yourself, you didn't have to deal with them much.

The young blond pulled a pack of cigarettes from the same boot that held his money and shook one out, sticking it between gaudily painted lips and lighting it without flourish, trying his best to protect the fragile flame from the cruel winds. Courage in a cancer stick.

He stuck the pack back into his boot and made his way into the ally, his arms wrapped around himself for warmth. Two minutes later, when he was grabbed and shoved back against the brick wall only seconds from his home, he didn't protest. It wasn't the first time he had been mugged in his life, let alone in the last month. Murders rarely occurred in the Backside District, but there was always that underlying fear, when you saw the knife glint in the harsh white light. Ed closed his eyes against his attacker. The muggers always appreciated when their victims were pre-lubed like this. He even put his arms around the dark man's neck, keeping himself pulled up against him so that his back didn't scrape against the bricks and leave bloody smears. When he opened his eyes, briefly, he could see his housemates walking by just a few feet away. Who would've thought? That white light glinting off the blade was the light from his own home's front porch light. He remembered once when his home's porch light had been as bright as the sun.

* * *

"Did they take it all?"

"No, didn't even think to look. He just took me against the back of the Viola House and let me go."

Adrian, Ed's roommate, didn't even have to ask what was wrong with him, when he saw the blond stagger into the bathroom, limping with his pants torn down one leg.

Ed walked over to stand beside him in front of the mirror and grabbed one of the washcloths piled up on the cluttered sink, wetting it quickly before attempting to scrub the makeup from his face. The blackness accentuating his golden orbs smeared, painting onto him raccoon eyes.

"What're you doing here still?"

Adrian was a pixie of a creature, though quite a bit taller than Ed, with the same delicate features but pale, pale skin, almost deathly white, and hair so black it almost glowed blue. His walking name was Raven. Currently, he was generously applying inky kohl around his eyes; giving him even more of a walking dead look. He lacked Ed's softness since he ate so little and if you saw him naked, you could usually see his ribs. You would swear, if you could touch him, he'd be so far past rigor mortis that he'd actually be cold. Among the housemates, he and Ed were sometimes known as Silver and Gold for how opposite they were in appearance. Despite this, the two got along quite well, and had actually requested switching roommates a few years back so they could room together.

"Took a hit of Mercury this afternoon, next thing I knew, I was waking up and it was one-thirty. Shit!" He had blinked while taking on the mascara and was now hurrying to remove the black goop before it stained his cheek. "Is it cold out tonight?"

"A little, not as bad as last night."

Adrian made a humming noise, which could have been a noise of agreement, or happiness, or allergies. Ed stripped his meager garments from his body, not at all caring about Adrian's presence, and turned to start filling up the grimy bathtub. The rapist had taken him pretty hard and he could tell something had torn in there. He wanted to soak before the blood and cum mingled and he got an infection.

"Don't tell Clark I fell asleep, alright?" Adrian questioned, turning to look at Ed. "He'll have my ass if he knew." Clark could be protective sometimes, but he'd been known to beat more than one of his boys into submission. Adrian had been taken off the streets as a child, just like Ed, and was considered Clark's property to do with as he please. He could play with his toy. Sell his toy. Or break his toy.

"I won't. Be safe."

"Like I can!"

If Ed had any humor left, he might've laughed, but it was just too late and he was too tired. Lying in the steaming water, he closed his eyes and laid back. Adrian had been right, after all, the boy had it much worse than Ed; he had the last shift. With his milky skin and charcoal black hair, he was a favorite among the night stalkers. Not middle-aged businessmen, like the type that went after Ed. Not the type that appreciated golden skin and golden hair. Adrian's type liked bones and blood and scars. They liked darkness and coldness. That's why Adrian never bothered to go out before midnight. Often, he had vibrant pink bite marks along his throat and shoulders. But the criss-cross marks along the white skin of his arms? Those were self-inflicted.

Ed supposed if he had clients like Adrian's, he might well take a razor to his arms himself. He knew Adrian didn't want to kill himself, that pain was his only comfort. Ed had tried to soothe him, in the past, but holding him only made Adrian feel worse. Here he was, older, bigger, and tougher than Ed, but he couldn't keep in his own pain? No, hugs and kisses didn't work in the real world. Only the workplace.

Kisses.

Ed sat up suddenly, splashing lukewarm water onto the yellowed tile floor.

The rapist had kissed him. He had forgotten about that. He had to write that down.

He always wrote down when somebody he "let" fuck him kissed him. He had noticed that years ago, when he was first sold to the Pedestal Brothel. Twelve customers into it, when he thought he had every trick down, somebody had kissed him. He could lube himself up, jack himself off in front of a client, swallow piss without gagging, fake moaning like a pro, and take a spanking without question. But when that first client tried to kiss him, he had just sat there like a virgin, not knowing how to react.

After toweling off, he went to get the hardly used journal from beneath his mattress. It was a gift from his brother, Alphonse, from when they were children. On the soft cloth cover was the embroidered image of a gray kitten. He turned the cover open so he could add a checkmark to his list on the inside cover.

So, give or take three customers a night, about three hundred and fifty days a year, for eight years. If his clients thought about him as a real person, not a big stuffed sex toy, eight thousand and four hundred men would've kissed him.

The check marks totaled ninety-nine.

Well, he was one away from the hundredth. Maybe the hundredth would be his true love?

* * *

When Roy Mustang had suggested the trip, Alphonse Elric had thought his superior was joking. He couldn't honestly be suggesting taking his youngest ward on a trip to the City of Sexual Alchemy, could he? Well, it had a few different names, but among the alchemist that was a popular nickname. A prime example of the use of equivalent exchange. But really, Roy had to be joking, right? He wouldn't really…

And then one day, a week before Al's eighteenth birthday, the colonel had thrown down a packet containing four train tickets. Two tickets from Central to Noiria, two tickets back from Noiria to Central. One pair for each of them.

Before he could even attempt to protest, it seemed it was a week later and Al was eating a piece of strawberry-frosted birthday cake baked by Mrs. Hughes with Roy sitting next to him on the train. And he was still murmuring to himself that this simply was not happening.

After all, Roy hadn't bought Fury a prostitute for his eighteenth birthday!

Noiria wasn't quite as he had expected it to be. At least, the whole of Noiria wasn't. The area they were staying in, the high-class section known as the Archaic District, could've been the upper class section in any city near Central. The stone buildings appeared blindingly white, as if the desert sun had bleached them like some neglected bones in the sand. Diamondia, the hotel they were staying at, was decorated in tasteful gold and cream and for the time, Al felt like some sort of king. A king with a harem waiting out there in the city. Except he had a feeling most kings weren't so utterly terrified of their harems.

The two slept most of the day, Al in his room, and Roy in his noticeably larger, more luxurious room. When he awoke, the setting sun had flushed the cream walls a tropical orange, and Roy was tinkering around in the sitting room somewhere. Pulling on a loose silk robe with a Diamondia logo sewn on it that he had found already in the closet upon arrival, he padded into the sitting room with socked feet. The plush cream carpet, combined with his already cushioned feet, made him feel like he was walking on a cloud.

Roy was sitting on the sofa with the gold floral design, a cup of something auburn and probably alcoholic in his hand. He greeted Al with a smile and a chuckle.

"Hello, sleepy head. We'll be leaving in about an hour, why don't you go jump in the shower?"

"Can I have a drink first, at least? I'm legal now, after all."

"And risk having you forget your deflowering? Alphonse, I'm surprised with you! Now hurry up, we have things to see, people to do."

The dirty-haired boy wrinkled his nose in distaste, more at the bad joke than anything, but obeyed his superior as he always had. After all, if it weren't for the colonel, he wouldn't be part of the military yet. Mustang had been the one with the quick words that procured him the right to take the alchemy exam at the young age of fifteen. Of course, he didn't necessarily owe him too much. He could've waited a few more years before attempting the exams; there was no real rush. But Al had been in the hands of the state since he was ten, so why not at least attempt to find something to do with his life from the get go?

Truth was, even though Roy had helped him get into the military, he never actually worked with the man. He didn't have any idea what these secretive missions Roy always seemed to be running off into were about. He was his superior, true, but he wasn't under his charge, like Hawkeye, or Havoc, or Fury. Roy had adopted him as a sort of son, always looking after him and offering advice and even bringing him gifts on the holidays.

For the most part, Al spent most of his time traveling among the farms. He was under a section of the military dedicated to greater food production, and as an alchemist was put in charge of transmuting creatures that weren't quite chimeras though they were often mistakenly referred to as them.

They weren't chimeras because they were of the same species, but he was taking two separate beings and putting them together. Like blending a bird that lays many eggs with a bird that lays large eggs so the one bird would lay many, large eggs. Then breeding this bird to similarly blended birds. Some called it an abomination. Al called it advanced evolution. What could possibly be wrong about helping feed starving children?

All in all, Al was quite happy with his safe, tedious assignments. He preferred to be helping others instead of constantly putting himself into danger, which Roy and the others always seemed to be doing. He had no doubt that Roy was so secretive specifically because his missions were so dangerous. He was thankful that Roy chose to keep these secrets from him. Of course, the comfortable, large house, rather lavish lifestyle, and abundant vacations didn't have any adverse affects either.

After losing his entire family, he had spent quite a bit of time in orphanages, after all. Crowded, dirty, depressing orphanages. Luckily, he was a gentle, likeable boy, and though he wasn't up for adoption because his father was still alive as far as anybody knew, he spent a lot of time in loving foster homes. But they were often poor families, needing the money fostering brought them.

If old Granny Rockbell hadn't had that stroke after their friend Winry's parents died, things might have been a lot different. But the old woman hadn't been able to care after the house and child with only half her body working, so the two had moved to a city where they had family. They had never replied to any of the letters Al and his brother had sent them after their mother died. He still remembered Winry after all these years. Actually, he had run into her last year, recognizing her right away, even though she had changed quite a bit, chasing after her two children, her third obviously on its way. She had been ecstatic to see him, if a bit flustered. She had been fine with him gathering the children and taking them away for the day. However, she had no word from Ed, either. It seems nobody had seem him in years.

After getting dressed and combed, Roy locked the door behind them and they were on their way. Unsurprisingly, Roy Mustang had been to Noiria several times in the past, and knew exactly where to find the best prostitutes.

"The Archaic District escorts," he explained in an expert sort of manner, "Are for the flamers needing a fake wife to introduce to mom, or the geeks who put away their formulas long enough to venture out of their caves but are still terrified of anything unknown. The good ones are the upper middle class whores. They're not disease ridden and toothless, like the really poor bastards need to shell money out for. But they're not as prudish as the AD hookers. Really, they'll let you fuck them for a crisp bill, but use the word cunt and they throw a fit?"

The conversation was making Al blush. He was thankful for the dim light of the rental car. Not that Roy was really looking towards him. He was keeping his eye on the road, glancing up at the streetlights to judge where they were.

"So where are we going?" Al asked finally, fidgeting in his seat, tugging at his buttoned shirt uncomfortably.

"I was thinking maybe towards the Garden District, usually there's a lot of pretty ladies there. And they're usually the sweet, homegrown types. Unless you'd prefer something a little wilder? Though it's hardly past sundown; the Kitten District doesn't even open up until midnight."

Usually, Al was prone to like things with the word kitten in them, but he had a feeling this sort would be the exception.

"Is the Garden District far?"

"Probably ten minutes or so." Roy replied with a shrug. "They're almost in the suburbs, if Noiria actually had a suburb, hence the name."

Al sighed, in a somewhat sad manner, and turned to look out the window, watching all the bright, colored lights, and equally brightly colored women, zoom by like some midnight snack induced dream. He was resting his chin in his hands, actually appearing forlorn, which, for Roy, was the dead opposite reaction to how a virgin should feel before getting his first piece of ass.

"Al, if you really don't want to do this, you know you don't have to," Roy spoke seriously, a hint of kindness lacing his voice. "I just thought you'd have fun, but we could just go to a strip bar and get drunk if you want."

"No, I want to," Al sat up quickly, trying to put on a happy demeanor, "I just…I was thinking about Ed."

"You're surrounded by hookers on all sides, and you're thinking of your older brother?"

"I think about him a lot, you know that."

"Yeah, but at a time like this?"

"Silly, isn't it?" Al attempted an obviously forced laugh. "I guess it's childish, but I sort of wish he was here. It seems like the sort of thing an older brother should be there for, don't you think?"

"Yes," Roy agreed with a short nod, "But it's his own fault, so don't dwell on it. You don't have to ignore your life just because your older brother was an ass and couldn't get anybody to take him into a foster home. If he hadn't been so cynical, I'm sure the family that fostered you would have taken him as well, but he was too sarcastic."

"I know. But, at the very least, I wish I knew where he was. I just wish I could tell him I love him. He's probably still looking for me, somewhere."

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. The subject was an old one, with a lot of weight behind it, which always followed with tears for Al if he let himself be dragged too far into it. He had promised himself he would attempt to have a good time. He was eighteen. Life had been hard for him. A dead mother, a missing father and brother. Why shouldn't he enjoy reaching adulthood?

"What's over there," Al pointed down a wide, well-lit street marked Cherry Avenue. "That looks nice enough."

"That leads to the Backside District. You don't want to go there."

"It doesn't look like a back alley sort of place," he observed quietly, turning his head to watch the street disappearing behind them, "It looks almost as nice as the Archaic District."

"Backside doesn't mean back alley," Roy actually snorted, laughing quite loudly in a way that offended the barely legal boy. "It's called the Backside District because it only carries young men. The Assfucking District didn't go over so well."

"It's, you mean, it caters towards homosexuals?" Al's head snapped back around. He knew what homosexuals were, of course, but he hadn't ever seen any for himself.

"Well, you get the occasional straight women, of course, but yeah, mostly it's for the fags."

"Turn around, I want to go there."

"What?" The car screeched to a stop. Thankfully, the street was wide and there were no cars tailgating, or they probably wouldn't just caused an accident.

"You said I should let myself go tonight, so I am. Turn around, I want a boy."

"Are you kidding?"

"No, why would I be?" Al stared at Roy in a way that wasn't quite glaring. More like challenging the dark haired man to say a negative word. "Girls are okay, but I don't really want one. It's my birthday, I should get what I want, right?"

"Well, sure, but I wish you would've mention you liked guys before I made that assfucking crack." Roy paused for a moment, then chortled at his own horrible pun.

As promised, the Backside District was lined with young, barely dressed men, all looking towards the car with promise in their eyes. Roy kept glancing over the distance between them towards Al, trying to gauge Al's reaction to the sight before them. Well, the boy seemed a little more excited, which was totally weird, since there were no breasts in sight. To each his own.

"Stop!"

The tires screeched even louder this time.

"That one! I want that one! I must have that one!" Al proclaimed breathlessly, pointing to a young blond dressed entirely in black. His actual face implied he was probably about the same age as Al, but he was so short!

* * *

Ed had hardly stepped onto the curve that night when a car screeched to a halt before him. He resisted the urge to laugh. Probably a virgin; they were always so eager. He walked over to the car, still slightly sore from last night. This one better be cute.

The count last night had been in his head all day. Ninety-nine kisses. He just couldn't believe it. If you asked him ten years ago if he ever thought he would kiss almost a hundred men… Well, he was only ten years old that long ago, but even he knew that would've made him sound like a whore. Which he was, so that's okay.

But there was some part of a romantic left inside him that absolutely wanted his hundredth kiss to be young and handsome and gentle. Which was totally absurd. But there were tales around the neighborhood about streetwalkers who had fallen in love with clients and clients who had returned those feelings. The stories always ended with the client taking the young whore away to live in a large house filled with jewels and music and art. Like some sort of fairy tale. Which was just what they were. Fairy tales. Fisherman told tales about fishermen and mermaids. Hunters told tales about hunters and fairies. And hookers…well, they told stories about hookers. Mermaids, fairies, men who could fall in love with a whore; they were all make believe.

Which was why this new obsession was entirely impractical. He should just consider himself lucky if he wasn't raped against the back of a building again tonight and received his kiss from that experience.

Rapes were never fun. Luckily, the damage he had received last night had been minimal, which was fortunate for him since Clark didn't care if you were dying from pneumonia; you were going out there. And last night's rape had been exceptionally lucky, since the mugger had only been there for the thrill of power, not the money. Raping a streetwalker wasn't much like rape. It was sort of like stealing food from a dumpster. Sort of a crime, but not really.

There was no guarantee he would receive his hundredth kiss tonight. He could stand to be picky, right? Turn down the ugly men for a little while until one of the cute ones kissed him? Maybe if he got a good-looking guy tonight, he'd kiss him instead. Take the initiative; something he only did if the client demanded it, and steal himself that hundredth kiss.

The window lowered and Ed got ready to greet his first customer of the night.

And actually started choking on his own spit.

It couldn't be.

He stared at the boy with the dirty blond hair sitting before him.

And stared

And stared.

And continued to stare until the driver on the other side of the car attempted to say something to him.

"Huh?"

"We were wondering if we could get a price?"

Why wasn't he saying anything? Why wasn't he talking? That was Al. There was no way in the world that could be anybody except his own little brother. Taller, yes. Longer hair, yes. Not so soft looking, but it was him. You could cover every bit of the boy's skin and only allow his eyes to show through and he would know it was him.

Al was staring at him, but it wasn't the same look of admiration he had bestowed upon him as children. He was looking at him like, like his clients did. Hungry and lustful and hot. But there was no way Al couldn't recognize him. Sure, he was a little paler, and he had some makeup on, and his braid hung down to the small of his back now, but he still looked almost the same. Hell, he had only grown an inch in the last eight years.

"One, one and a half times the usual for two," he stuttered the familiar line, unable to take his eyes off the gray ones staring back at him. They were just as innocent as he remembered. It was almost absurd. Here he was, this entirely filthy creature, staring at the epitome of purity. Just fucking say something Alphonse!

"Not two, just this one here. He's a virgin and he's looking to be deflowered," the other passenger's voice might as well have been coming from God himself and Ed wouldn't have paid any attention to it.

"We have the money," Al finally spoke. "Do we have to pay for a room, also? I've never been with a, a, um, well, I've never paid for these sort of services."

He could've been any one of the hundreds of schoolboys he had serviced, out on the town during vacation. Except he wasn't. He was his little brother, who was acting as if he wasn't sitting there propositioning his older brother. But his voice was hardly changed, just the slightest bit deeper. The matured voice of an adult, not the squeaky voice of an adolescent.

It brought back the memories of a crowded orphanage and the last sight of the boy Ed had ever seen. A young, tear-dampened face, begging to stay here with his older brother. Ed's own promise. The promise that he'd come after him. The promise that this building would never hold him. The promise that he'd find him someday. He had tried to keep that promise, really. He had tried so hard. He had escaped from the orphanage. He had been searching for his brother when those men had thrown him into the backseat of their car and taken him to Noiria. He had been beaten nearly to death every time the same men had to bring him back to Clark, kicking and biting. He had to find his brother; he just had to. After the fifth time, he just gave up. No matter what he was trapped and the only way he could get away was if Al found him. He had nowhere to go out there.

"Yeah, rooms are separate. I find it eas, easier that way, so you can, can afford as cheap or expensive as you want."

"I can just drop you two off at the Diamondia," the passenger's slightly deeper voice cut through the cool night's air. "I think I might head to one of the fetish houses on my own."

Diamondia? Ed had only been there once. Nice place. Extremely nice, actually. The ritziest place in the entire city. You could fit his and Adrian's place in one of their bathrooms. Hell, one of their golden clocks would pay for the entire military to have a round with him.

"I can't leave the Backside District unless I have a guaranteed ride back," Ed replied.

"We'll give you a ride back," Al responded, voicing Ed's greatest fear. It didn't matter that this was his older brother, he was still a whore, and he was leaving him where he found him.

Al was shy about undressing in front of him, but it didn't take long to get him in the bed. The room was almost identical to one he had been in the last time he came to this hotel. For a moment, Ed actually wondered if it might be the same one.

He noticed the State Alchemist outfit watch sitting on the bedside as he was pulled into the cool cream sheets.

"You're a State Alchemist?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Pretty good for a little boy from a small town, huh?" Once the initial shyness had faded, Al was actually pretty confident in bed. His brother seemed to be going towards the position of a top, which wasn't that surprising. His brother had always been a gentle creature, but could be very forceful when needed. "Alphonse Elric, the Evolving Alchemist. I was always amused by that, switches my initials around. We Elrics always were talented."

He slid his hands around Ed's narrow hips, pausing to push up one side of his brother's shirt to nip at the spot where his body curved on one side, and pulled him onto the bed with him

Al helped him undress, something Ed always left for his clients since they often liked to undress him, unless directed otherwise. At first, Ed thought he would be unable to get the slightest bit aroused, which happened frequently anyway. With a job like this, becoming aroused every time, even half the time, was a difficult prospect. But when you're in bed with your own flesh and blood, could the idea be even more absurd? But Ed was greeted with a surprise when he looked down to see what Al was doing towards his feet and saw his penis waving happily back at him. He closed his eyes against the sight, his breath tight in his throat, and put his head back.

The younger boy was having a little trouble pulling off the tight leather pants, but managed to pry them off over his brother's feet. Ed sat up a bit, reaching for him, but was pushed back against the blankets. Al didn't attempt to pull off the tight black wifebeater Ed had gone out in that night, just pushed it up so his nipples were exposed to the warm hotel room's air. And of course, that boy had to know his weakness. He was almost unaware that he was crying out his brother's name until a finger invaded his mouth and his voice came out muffled.

During the entire experience, Ed felt slightly sick to his stomach. Whether it was from highly-strung nerves or the actual knowledge to the fact that he was having sex with his own brother, Ed wasn't quite sure. But really, it probably wasn't the brother thing. He'd had sex with more than one pair of brothers, and even the occasional father/son couple, so really, what was the difference? Was there such thing as morality in such a place as Noiria?

At some point during the actual intercourse, Ed realized he was actually past being slight aroused, he was actually approaching an orgasm. Even when he was aroused, coming when he was with a customer was extremely rare. In the past year he could name three times he came with a client; all three of them had been extremely handsome and demanding, almost violent, because Ed could only come when he was fucked good and hard, and only when he was aroused in the first place.

But Al wasn't being violent or demanding. He had Ed on his hands and knees, one arm looped around his waist, the other on Ed's hard on, which was only somewhat unusual but really, really good, which is so usually wasn't. He tried to will it away. This was sick. This was bad. He couldn't do this in front of his brother. Not his pure, naïve brother. Not the one who always thought so much of him. How could he let his brother see him like this? Coming like a dirty whore for a few dollars? Somehow, this self-abashment did it. Because he was a whore and he was coming for a few dollars. He stained Al's hand white. Al made a soft noise behind him, slowing for a second, then brought the hand up to his face. Ed heard a slurping sound. Something warm and gooey hit the back of his neck. His own cum dripping from his brother's fingers. Al picked up his pace again, coming almost immediately. When Ed fell back onto the bed, Al falling next to him, he saw the white abomination on his brother's lips.

Al made all the same mistakes as any virgin. He came prematurely in Ed's mouth when he went down on him before the first round, and made him cough, then used too little lube when attempting to loosen the blond up. At one point, while resting, he felt the soft arms go around him and pull out his hair tie, asking if he'd shake out his hair for him. Not such an odd request. Many men liked to see Ed's hair loose, hanging over his golden shoulders like a curtain of gold thread, and Ed liked being able to conceal his face behind the draping waves. Al laughed and pulled him against him, asking him to go down on him a second time so that he could feel the golden tide against his thighs. Ed could taste himself on his brother's cock, which was almost a comforting taste after so many years. It was familiar.

Al wasn't kinky in any way. He didn't ask for anything urine related, and he didn't ask to spank him. Nor did he have any schoolgirl uniforms hidden away in the closet. It was just pure, straight sex. Well, pure, gay sex. The younger boy came four times in all, two times in his brother's mouth, and two times inside him. As expected, he was a rather gentle lover the entire time, letting Ed straddle atop him by the end of the ride, when Al had already come three times and was almost falling asleep with exhaustion.

Through the whole thing, the thought just kept coming back. That was his brother's dick in his throat. That was his brother tongue inside him. That was his brother's lips against his nipples. That was his brother's hands holding his waist. This was his brother making him whine, shiver, beg, and, and come. And just as frequently came one other though.

He wasn't kissing him.

Not once did Al come close to kissing him, not even on his stomach or chest or shoulders or neck. He licked his sharp hipbones and nipped at his softer curves and suckled on his nipples and cleaned Ed's own cum from his belly. But not once did they pucker in a way that could be possibly considered a kiss.

Before Al had come for the fourth time, Ed decided what he had to do. He had to kiss him. Could he possibly ask for something better? Could he possibly ask for a better hundredth kiss? Al couldn't be his first. He wished Al could've been his first. His last. His only.

Maybe his hundredth would be the fairy tale. Maybe he could kiss him and Al would tell him he loved him and take him away to live with him. Maybe Al would ignore the fact that his brother was a dirty whore. Maybe he wouldn't mind how many men had been inside him. Maybe he wouldn't care he was so impure because Al would pure enough for the bother of them. Maybe Al would take care of him.

He stopped, sitting atop of him, impaled on top of his brother, and leaned down, closing his eyes, lips parted. Just like the princess from a fairy tale. Like Sleeping Beauty waiting to be awaken by a kiss.

A hand on his chest stopped him, pushed him away quickly but not in a necessarily harsh manner.

"Don't."

"Al, I just wanted to-"

"Don't. I just…I can't. Not with somebody like you. I'm sorry. I don't want to be cruel, but you're a prostitute."

"I'm just, I'm just a prostitute." Ed's voice dropped lowly, morphing into a monotone drone. "Yes, I'm just a prostitute, aren't I?"

"I'm sorry. Just, get back to it."

"Yes." He didn't want him. Al didn't want him. He was just a prostitute.

Al figured it was a bit silly, but he decided to ride back in the car with Roy to the Backside District. They dropped Glimmer off on the curve near where they had found him. Al watched him from the rearview mirror. The beautiful boy watched them with unusually sad eyes. He hadn't looked that sad when they had come to pick him up. His long hair, which he had rebraided before they left the hotel, hung over one shoulder, and the blond was fingering it absently, playing with the soft rope. His golden eyes never left the car's outline. For a moment, it appeared as if the blond was actually crying, before Al realized it had started to sprinkle and it was just a couple of stray droplets on the back window.

"Did you have fun, Al?" Roy asked once the boy was out of the car. He didn't take his eyes off the road. The few sprinkles had turned into fat, icy drops, not yet crystallized. They were splattering across the road, freezing into slick ice. Hellish weather to be outside. Hellish weather for driving.

"He was amazing."

"He was quite pretty, but I'm still surprised you went for him. I figured you would want one a bit taller. Don't gay boys like muscled men?" It was getting late, and they had to get up early in the morning, so if he wanted the dirty details, he had to get them now. If Roy thought he was going to hear about Al being a top, he was hoping for a little too much.

"I don't know why I was drawn to him. It was just like, the moment I saw him, I knew I needed to have him." Al yawned sleepily and leaned back against the car's window. The windows were starting to ice over also. He could see the glossy wetness of the black road glistening beneath the gaudy lights of the city, reflecting neon sign advertising cheap sex and booze. "I guess I'll have to talk about this with my doctor, huh?"

"She doesn't need to know everything."

"This isn't just anything, Roy. It's not like I had a bowl of soup for dinner, I lost my virginity. I bet she's not going to be happy. She's going to want your balls." Alphonse gloated gleefully.

"She says the only way you'll ever recover all your memories is if you start acting like a normal teenage boy, and normal teenage boys sleep with prostitutes. Normal boys don't spend all their times with farm animals. Well, some do, but they usually get the animal rights people on their butts for that."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Did I tell you I finally remembered what my mother's face looked like?" The boy looked towards his mentor, suddenly not at all tired, bursting with glee. He hadn't really seen much of Roy in the last month and since it had been almost a month ago since he had finally recovered the memory, hadn't had time to share it with him.

"No. But that's great. What did she look like?"

"Beautiful. With dark hair. Not dirty blond like mine. Did I get my hair from my father?"

"Yes. Hoenheim had blond hair."

"Does it say anywhere what color hair Ed has?"

"I haven't seen it anywhere." Roy shrugged offhandedly.

"Oh well. I'm sure I'll remember what he looks like someday. I bet his hair is darker than mine. A dark haired mother couldn't possible have two blond children."

If Al had gotten out of bed right before dawn that night and walked down to the Backside District, he would see Glimmer still standing on the street corner, not having budged a bit, his eyelashes and hair shimmering with hardened ice that would soon melt with the morning's warmth, still staring off into the distance, the way their car had rolled away into the night.

* * *

Three days after watching his brother drive out of his life again, Edward Elric returned home from a long, tiring night and went rummaging through Adrian's bedside table for his stash of razors. Adrian did it enough; it must help somehow. Five straight lines right down on his inner arm. The blood welled up and escaped, struggling for release into the humid air. At first, all he felt was pain, and that was it. For the briefest moment, he wondered how this could help. Until he realized all he felt was pain, and that was it. He didn't feel sad or lonely or betrayed. Just the physical pain of his wounds.

He turned to his own bed and took out his journal, using the bloodied tip of his razor to mark the diagonal line across the four vertical black ones.

He had been old and horribly overweight and had kept calling him Tommy. In return, he had called him granddaddy.


End file.
